some call megod.          
my fingers are a housewife that wants you dead for wearing spaghetti straps
and a hairy chest.

she watches the news
as
her son and step-daughter **** in the basement.
they lean in place in nothing but those white cotton socks that get wet and sticky from the laundry detergent spilt across the rubber-
mat.

the *** stained push-up will get left down there.
the machine will tear it out of its wire armatures.

outside the sun is burning the lawn.

outside
the fat black flies are *******.
they drop, heavy- inside the windowsill
after 4 days of fury. the good fight
is lost.
their wings are sparkling

like gems.

We imagine ourselves among the dead, the dying, and the monsters that inhabit those spaces
As a way to feign immortality
In that we are comforted in the temporary untouchability of our placement, just off screen.
Or
Rather
In the shrinking down, to the screen, itself.

the only sentiments
worth
s
e
n
t
i
m
e
n
t
i
n
g
are the  
         ones
pre-agreed-to
inside the

[cyber - cathedral ]

touching is like a hairy arm in a loose long sleeve
dust particulates breathe space between us.
the news comes on the radio.

your fingers    find answers like old magazine
pages.get turned into puppies

i'm yellowing   w/i/t/h
                              them
i had more but i lose it when i lose you to the floor
like chestnut-husks against your skin
like failing to ******* .
   flowers faking it in a field somewhere-
it's enough to

.

c-u-t bangs off.impulsively
shirtless
outside in the/end.november
pre.noon

buzzing the side of a silent head

oh
sebum heart
you are more than the cells rotting in your
body
.than the hive mind of bacteria in your gut
telling you to rip the
place to shreads


in shoals of sticky wet erasure

your friend's tongue presses forcefully against my ****. as if
it is a
muscle  
desperately trying to prove factoids
we
learned about it in middle school.

//strongest lb. for lb. in the human body.

you take yours lips and drag them across her.
parting her open with little fingers-
wishing they were able to reach into more
places
at
once.

like escape artists finding bigger cages each time we get out.
like new backpacks
full of the yearning for
places to take them.

Passion poltergeist

Music chamber.



Wanderer on the Road.

you find things
that are worth finding .

pay me only in these small, barricaded places_

as we glint like
discarded
             bottle-corpses
along the woody
edge.

pad-traps
      for
perimeter-pointing
   hounds ,
  let loose
  under the

dark-foot gauze of the
     equinox night.


vessel-hearted :
     known to have contained

beloved ghost of
       a land
       before
       fence-land .


yet solid as
              the
          moon .

/.                    /.                    /.    
Beside the comb-prong fingers ,
Bristle-skinned searchparty ,
Moon mounted
Pillow rider

True face
Throne

Horn-headed for
Elk meat, where it seeks
Home

Lost time
And lost to time

Measure me next, without the
Sun.


I am not yet the wake of air through the tussocked expanse//

Nor, the jazz-beat of her rain clamoring to disrobe that which is made modest by soil-cover.


Sky-wheel tithing .
Bluestone plaything.
Sight-line, leaching .

Honest animal
Lying man.

Behold, the aspect :
As the permafrost thaws
And ancient wings
Take to the air, once more.

And while their prey
Squabble over the distinction between
Wise
And wizened,

Feasts
Are
Prepared .

Feelings
Are shapes that we are squeezed inside
From which, we can’t imagine what the outside
Looks
Like




Hooked ear pods
Are the new
Security
Blanket.








Guess,
I wanted to be
admired for something I did on purpose.

Crust like machinegun fire
Sending tremors through the hot
Night

I release the grip
If such is the
Desire

So much white hot vibration of
Hatred
Stuck inside these little cubes
Buzzing like madness against the walls
Thrashing to get out - as the
Walls shrink
In the name of efficiency
And the tower rises further higher
Into the thin mists of false nirvana / vacuuming us
Upwards^
As the vapors disperse
And all is knowable
And all these cubes smashed together in a grid
Of silver light
Of radiating illumination, railing against any slim crack of peace-like darkness left
And

The grid is god
The grid is greater than god
The grid is us as gods
The grid is finality


We are each cube, thinking we are the grid, itself

Thinking we are anything except
Caged into electron-cloud-mind-
Uncertainty

Thinking we are anything but driven to
Extinction

Still spasming, there, in the light
Still burning hotter than stars, but with the heat wicked away instantaneously and by design
Leaving nothing but cool,
Polished
Fear :


•


In the
Cathedral, again_

you scare me
in ways that
deserve our
wet fingers
finding each-
other in this

m u t u a l .
o b s e ssion

let them not
find ways to
fail  to  find
each - other
in the dark_













.

the sea needs the stone face of the shoreline to dash upon, else it won’t know how big it is

we must become our own warm ambience
and scratch the hardwood floors with our love
pushing across the
room

a man-shaped hole in the air shifts around the room, making currents. it’s not the first time that air has been moving. the vacuum-heart draws everything into it, as might be expected .but to see it happen , is something
more
than expectation,alone, may satisfy .

the void-love
grows.

the hole in the air wants to tell you he feels
the same

.
.
in defense of somethinghood

she laughs like breakfast cereal hitting the side of the bowl
                                                   [maple syrup in my hair.]

as the nostrils clear
           air and earth
as mouths loop around anthems without countries.
as we bloom inside.(not out)
(not ours) (not sweeping us up in it.)

we catch eachother in definitions only.
it's like trying to be grown .
tropical plants sit in clay pots by the window

+your rugburn smile breaks\      / open and spills out over
everyone.

+your fingernail teeth.wash me away

i felt it also.fainting also. fearing all the things that rat us out to the
u n i n d o c t r i n a t e d

that eat us out with one ear against the wall

that normie   ****.

that sunburn skin.that
tankline brea
k

i take

these pictures in my head instead of
you

i know that smell
he said
those tweety-bird treats from the ice-cream truck-
with those weird gumball eyes
i haven't thought about those since my little league days.
i always ******.

i was young for my grade and very thin and gangly-
except for that one year, when everyoneelse moved on and

me and that one other kid who was also young for our grade
stayed in the league.
we killed it that year
i'm not proud. but it was our chance to shine

it's amazing how these things can come back to you.

i said yeah

a bit later on my way to the train station, there was a homeless
woman
with oxygen tubes and a wheelchair
she was limp, directly in front of the door to the stairs, eyes
closed
baking in the (late day) sun

i didn't check if she was alive.
i thought about it though

putting the symbol before the sentiment

critter-lung .
critter-lung .
bouncing in the trashday sun
fill me
with.     something

honey-gain
hive-loss

rumbles in the
basement .

meadow mouth

lets the drips roll off
from
       desperation-clenched
       thighs         to
fall
upon each green blade born of these buried bits
of somethinghood


as a fatigue settles across
a languid sort of reward,


damp inside the lawful box

sweeping up my steps like
uncluttering any remnants
of a prisoner’s
prayer

at the adaptive obligation,wild after more

master of virtues no longer called for.
master of virtues not yet called for.

a hero with 1,000 faces
fights a faceless monster
in a field of ruin    and
  beyond observation

caught like a row of
selenium pillars holding up a
prism
earth

encrusted in
skittering moments w/o time

heaving a blade
into
salt-silt flickering slit

([]}        (  •. )         _

Another
Hangs like the
Increasingly average protests of
Virtue in man’s sick pantheon

Just east of
Dawn’s gurgling last breath,
Choking in
The steaming *** load of
God_

Staining white,  these
Vast
Echo chambers of the cyber cathedral


No greater
Panopticon.

they came dressed as the moon, sang about death and warned against time .
they came dressed as the sun, sang about death and warned against misbehavior .

on my t-shirt , cropped in
set against a text explanation
lit by the sun
and
singing through the air like electric
                arrows

forgotten words for it.
small ornament beside the face

in need of fly paper
upon her return

the scan lines are layers of sediment
piled up
  in thin slices of observation
  over
  us

leaving psychic breadcrumbs to follow back
home/out
again

sink-water upon my bristlerough  brow ,like deeply unearthed lime
weathered  to indistinguishable faulty
globes
precipitating across a.goblet-edge .a
rim-locked  look,
now
wet hair patted down
into model
behavior
and

situational sensation

styrofoam containers of the leftovers get stuffed in the fridge (after sitting out for too long)_as you crawl up onto the table//tugging your shorts justfarenoughdowntoyour.thighs
they
used to use stone altars.now we use mail-order scandinavian minimalism

home
     is
     a dark forest
     by the sea
heroism
      has
      been bred out
our hearts
       are
       next :

all hungers, tempered
(the serpent slumbers after feasting upon the whole of the world)




[you’re wrong,
[i’m
[shivering   .

soot-footed,we careen off the edge of our sea.scrying corrective endeavors     [seraph - lensed ;feather-wet]
     as the spire
becomes a
  d  
  r
  i
  l
  l

the existential violence
of closing the windows
.of
dumping the stale bed-side
water
into the sink
rather than the garden
.of
loving w/o finishing that long
process of loving adequately
or w/o adequate tempered
measure

to
       happiness
is getting so
        sick
of sadness and
        
       anger
that you can’t
**** with them
any            more                                                        .

emissary
     solutions
dissolve like tea
into too much
      water .
tastes        folded down
    into the back
corners of your tongue ,
scraping
molars   in mild annoyance

;magazine page torn out
and stuffed into
your shirt

for warmth
at the end of the world//

you flash a  smile_ or
is it a threat ?
and reach your hands
    down into
           your
          pants

we are collecting
preventative measures
             like assembling
       an
anthology
of misplaced
               tiles
in mosaic
memorandum.

if           we have a year
left,
if we
continue to postpone
              the
destruction,


art may
yet
retain its
artists

as artifice transcends
artifice




.

i'm listening to the crickets outside the window tonightfor the first t ime in a long time

frominside
  the heaving molecules
gargles,a new lament

for courage, they cry out
as electrons are forcibly
stripped_

leaving art-****
nuclei
in voyeuristic
[ display]
for hungry
magnetic mouths   to
                   s p li t

heels on the hard
bone
heels on the hard ground

tippy-pad
tippy-pad

hardwood-hurt
home.

.     humans
describing
      humans

unodysseus,      i had
               known
               t h e n .

blackened toe-nail lessons
found
at the bottom of the
door

thunder forecast;

mother of memory
living inside
the
globule-breath night

rail-gun
for
the cloudcover